Ace Combat: Running Scared
by Callsign Godfather
Summary: When ace Osean pilot Avery Jefferson November is shot down over B7R, he suddenly finds himself in a whole new level of hell.  Will he ever make it home alive?  Read on and find out!  In progress
1. Operation: Lance of Lightning

Note: Before reading, I do not own any stakes in the creation/development of Ace Combat. I do, however, own AC4 and AC0. This is also my first fanfic.

**ACE COMBAT:**

**RUNNING SCARED**

**Chapter 1: Operation: Lance of Thunder**

The awkward silence that filled the air around November's F-14 Tomcat intrigued Captain Avery Johnson November. After all, Operation Lance of Thunder was one of the largest sorties over the skies of Airspace B7R the 127th Air Force had ever been pulled for. All of six divisions of eight aircraft a piece had been put into the area over Belka designated by all air force pilots as the 'Round Table'.

And the captain was flying point.

"Captain November, this is Higgins." November's wingman radioed in. Higgins was a short, stocky man, built like a Mack truck with little or no regard for his own safety over the safety of his squadron. "We're moving in over B7R. I've got multiple blips coming in. Looks like Belka's thrown out the welcoming mat."

"Roger." November climbed his Tomcat a few hundred feet higher into the air, and Higgins followed suit. Within moments, the Belkan aircraft were below.

"This is Captain November to all Osean pilots. Engage the Belkan fighters; no quarter will be taken or given." A chorus of 'Sir, yes sir!' rang through the radio.

"Damn good." November put the radio reciever down and led the 127th out of the clouds. The 48 Osean elites fell upon the Belkan fighters in a withering rain of cannon fire and missile strikes. The surgical precision of guns combined with the raw force of explosives crashing into the enemy craft took down many Belkans before they had time to react. When they reacted, however, the scales began to shift.

The Belkan flight lead, an Su-47 Berkut, fell in behind Captain November's Tomcat, and within seconds the Captain heard a lock-on alert. He broke formation and jinked hard right, the whine of the Tomcat's jet engines shrieking a requiem through the air, as the Belkan's missile tore past. November retaliated quickly, performing a skid and turning the F-14 in a 180 arc, and launched an AIM-9 Sidewinder his way. The Sidewinder impacted the Berkut's wingtip and knocked the Sukhoi, Belka's flight lead, into a barrel roll-

-Straight towards November's cockpit.

"Oh shiiiit..." November whispered. He reached under his seat and popped his Beretta into its holster and had just barely enough time to eject from his doomed Tomcat's cockpit before the two fighters collided in a mid-air, exploding into a magnificent fireball.

November's chutes engaged and he drifted to the ground, rocked softly by the winds. The battle raged a few hundred feet below, both forces leaderless, the outnumbered Oseans fighting tooth and nail to survive.

November passed out shortly after.


	2. Envoy from the Clouds

**Chapter 2: Envoy from the Clouds**

November drifted down from the heavens, landing on the side of a large mountain with a _thud._ For a few hours, he sat, unconscious, then awoke to find himself on the side of the reddish, sandy ridge. Then the captain awakened from his 'slumber' and looked to the sky.

The skirmish was over. The airspace was clear again; and it couldn't bode well to know what had happened. November unstrapped himself from the ejector seat which perched itself at an awkward angle, half embedded in the sandy dirt. A buzzard wheeled in the sky overhead, the sun beating down on the area. November continued to inch his way awkwardly across the sand when he saw a faint glimmer, far off in the distance, possibly on the next mountain. At least a full day's journey. Without a doubt in the world, November wouldn't be up to the task, at least until he had rested up a bit.

The captain made his way back to the ejector seat and looked around at his surroundings. A few scraggly, dry bushes grew in the sand, just barely eking out an existence in the arid, deserted mountains. November sighed, and said a brief memento to himself.

"I'll have to find food and water within three days, or I'll starve." November thought as hard as he could, and remembered seeing a small patch of green on his descent to earth. It wasn't far away, probably somewhere near the summit- at most an hour journey, two if he really wanted to push his limit.

"No time like the present," Avery repeated to himself, and trudged up the mountain. The whole way, the glimmer on the far off peak poked at his conscience, and at least once he lost his footing and tripped, eventually his face meeting the red dirt on the ground. His blonde/brown hair became a dusty red/brown, but eventually he crested the hilltop.

A small spring bubbled contentedly from the ground, fuelling a small patch of grass that petered off into the dry, arid ground around it. The spring water looked inviting, and November dipped his hands into it. The water came back, reflecting his dusty, dirty, red face. The captain sloshed the water onto his face, and small rivulets caked with ruddy dirt ran down his neck and off his chin, dotting the ground below. He sighed contentedly and sat down on a patch of grass near the edge and dozed, his flight suit reflecting the light.

He awoke about two hours later to the sound of shuffling footsteps, about four, five yards down the hill from his position. November laid ramrod stiff, rolling his head over toward the sound. At the edge of the grass stood a wild boar, about waist high, its scarred visage reflected across the pool even at that distance. November caught his breath and slipped a hand to the grip of his Beretta, then thought against it and drew his hand away again. To waste bullets on a target as tough as that would be signing his own death warrant; and to run out of ammo behind enemy lines with little chance of rescue would be the dumbest move he could make in B7R.

Instead, November rolled into a crouch and steadily moved around to the opposite side of the spring and laid down behind a small partition of chaparral and watched. The boar moved to the edge of the spring, and nosed the water. It grunted in a low, grainy voice (typical boar) and drank from the spring, then walked away from the spring and out of sight. November, who hadn't realized he was holding his breath, released his breath and stood up, circling through a depression in the chaparral.

He took another drink of the spring water and poked around. After a few minutes of fruitless searching, Captain November found a small bush of wild strawberries.

"Strawberries, thank God. Just as long as I have some whipped cream." He laughed, a short and humorless guffaw. He gathered up a few of the small, red berries and pocketed them. Then he looked out towards the glimmer.

"No time like the present…" November popped a couple of the small berries into his mouth and stepped away from the spring, moving across the small mountain peak and out to the east.

MEANWHILE…

The small glint in the distance gave away the position of a wrecked Osean F-14 Tomcat. The sound of static could be heard from within the wreckage. Nearby, several footprints circle the wreck, showing a fallen man. He is stocky, his flight suit sticky with sweat. Higgins rolls over, his bloody and shaded face laid bare to the elements. He sat up, and coughed some sand out of his throat.

From his perspective, a few vague figures could be seen moving across the desert. If one looked hard enough, they could see a Belkan insignia on a truck they were traveling with…


	3. RAWHIDE!

**Chapter 3: RAWHIDE!**

Higgins pushed himself to his feet and grabbed a pair of binoculars from a ruined pocket of his flight suit. Licking his parched lips, he lifted the binoculars to his sore, burning eyes and checked the landscape.

Sure enough, the same convoy which had been traveling around the area for a half an hour was still there. Higgins zoomed in on the front right door of the transport. Sure enough, a Belkan flag was painted onto it. Higgins was about to set the binoculars down when he saw a small figure moving down the slope opposite his wreck. He hurriedly lifted his binoculars again and spotted Avery November descending the far slope.

"Thank God… Maybe he found some food and water. I just hope he gets here in time…" Higgins heaved a dry sigh from the depths of his lungs and spat on the ground, supporting himself against what was left of the Tomcat's nose. When he went down, the remaining Osean fighters were scattered across B7R, either pulling out or on the ground. Higgins and another squadron member had paired up in formation and were trying to escape from the battlefield when a burst of cannon fire shredded Higgins' wings. Unable to maintain altitude, Higgins fell from the sky and spiraled to the ground. He managed to steady himself so that he carved a ravine into the ground and skidded to a stop, his F-14 shredded beyond recognition; yet somehow he survived the landing.

And here he was, in the same boat as all of his fellow pilots. Stranded in B7R, hoping that Belkan patrols and rummage squads wouldn't kill them or capture them.

Eventually, the truck turned straight towards him. "Oh, fock," Higgins sighed and took out his Beretta. The single 15-shot clip wouldn't do much damage to Belkan soldiers in full combat outfits, and would do even _less _to an armored vehicle, the supply truck included. But it would be better to die fighting then to surrender and waste away in a prison camp somewhere in Belka.

The small patrol drew closer to the wreckage, drawn like moths to a bug zapper. When they spotted Higgins, standing there, waiting for them, and drew closer.

"Osean pilot! Drop your weapon and surrender peacefully!" Higgins responded by shooting the soldier in the foot; and the man shrieked in pain and dropped to one knee, bringing up his AK-47 and firing a burst. Higgins ducked behind his wrecked Tomcat, the Belkan's fire ricocheting off the destroyed fuselage. Higgins poked his head up over the top of the wreckage and fired a few more shots. The firing stopped.

By some miracle, Higgins had either crippled or killed most of the Belkans at the cost of his only clip of ammo. Higgins vaulted over the wreckage and field-searched the bodies. He turned up an MR-444 and two clips, and an AK-103 and a single clip for that.

"Now, where did that truck go?" He thought.

MEANWHILE…

November, who had made it into the valley between the two mountains, heard the crackle of gunfire far off in the distance and dove behind a small stand of chaparral. The prickly brush poked at his arms and legs, but he was quite sure that (at least for the moment) he was safe from whatever was shooting. At this distance, the crimson sky was partially obscured, providing shelter from its harsh rays. November waited, listening to the gunfire on the mountain above. For a few minutes, it went on, then it stopped. November strained to hear more; however, he couldn't. Even from this distance, it was obvious that the fight was over.

November backed out of the chaparral and circled through the thorny brush, and moved slowly towards the far slope. He held his Beretta in his left hand, as he was left-hand dominant. After a while, the sun set, and November continued his uphill journey, occasionally taking a handful of wild strawberries and popping them into his mouth. Eventually, he reached the area of the gunfight. He looked up and found the wreckage of Higgins' Tomcat, recognizable by the black horse insignia on the nose.

"Higgins? You around here?" November yelled. Suddenly, a hand clasped him from behind. He struggled against the hand, but the stocky, tree-trunk like arm held ramrod stiff.

"Shh… Shut up, man! You'll give our position!" The voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"Higgins… Is that you? Thank god, it's captain November! I thought I was the only one left."

"Apparently not. The Belkans have been patrolling the area with a prison truck; they have six of our pilots loaded into the back of a transport down the slope from here."

"I just came up that slope; there's nothing down there."

"That's because it's hidden. Follow me. First, take a gun from the stockpile." November noticed the three remaining Belkan rifles, all AK-47s, leaned against what was once a wing. November hefted each one, checked its ammo, finally selecting the heaviest AK-47 and an extra clip.

"You done shopping, lady?" Higgins. His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" November said sarcastically in return.

"Let's just go."

The duo moved down the slope, backtracking November's path, and, sure enough, they arrived at the chaparral where November had hidden a few hours before.

"I was just hiding in there, there's nothing in…" November was corrected as Higgins carefully moved a few tangled branches of chaparral, revealing the front of the ex-Belkan transport. There were several muffled groans coming from the back.

The truck looked old, probably pre-1985, but it was sturdy, and it started surely enough when Higgins climbed behind the wheel. The exhaust pipes belched smoke. Higgins beckoned from the cab.

"Get in! You got gunner's position." November climbed up the step to the cab and slammed the door shut. Higgins started singing a familiar song, and November soon joined in.

Rollin', rollin', rollin'  
Rollin', rollin', rollin'  
Rollin', rollin', rollin'  
Rollin', rollin', rollin'  
Rawhide!

Rollin', rollin', rollin'  
Though the streams are swollen  
Keep them dogies rollin'  
Rawhide!  
Rain and wind and weather  
Hell-bent for leather  
Wishin' my gal was by my side.  
All the things I'm missin',  
Good vittles, love, and kissin',  
Are waiting at the end of my ride

Move 'em on, head 'em up  
Head 'em up, move 'em on  
Move 'em on, head 'em up  
Rawhide  
Count 'em out, ride 'em in,  
Ride 'em in, count 'em out,  
Count 'em out, ride 'em in  
Rawhide!

Keep movin', movin', movin'  
Though they're disapprovin'  
Keep them dogies movin'  
Rawhide!  
Don't try to understand 'em  
Just rope, throw, and brand 'em  
Soon we'll be living high and wide.  
My hearts calculatin'  
My true love will be waitin',  
Be waitin' at the end of my ride. 

Rawhide!  
Rawhide!


	4. Envoy Under Fire

**Chapter 4: Escort Under Fire**

The transport had been rolling through the passage for about four hours when the first signs of the battle above came into view. First, they passed a few small piles of shrapnel, shredded armor plating from the aircraft that were damaged or destroyed. Eventually, they passed a Belkan Su-27 Flanker, the wreck just laying there, jutting from the sand at an awkward angle. The pilot was splattered all over the front of the craft. November averted his eyes and swallowed a small bit of puke that welled in his mouth. He spat the saliva out the window and looked at Higgins. The stout man's face showed no emotion whatsoever.

The truck continued at a fair pace before it rolled to a stop. November looked out the windshield but saw nothing.

"Higgins, why did you stop the truck? We gotta keep moving!" November was obviously puzzled. Higgins clapped a meaty, calloused hand over November's face and hissed sharply.

"Get under the dashboard."

"Why the he-"

"SHH!" Higgins pushed his burly form into the space under the board, angling in-between the pedals and the bottom of the dashboard. November soon did the same. For a few minutes, the duo sat in tense silence. Then, November heard footsteps crunching on the ground outside the truck. He managed to edge his head up to the bottom of the window frame and peek out. He saw a Belkan soldier moving around outside the truck door. He eventually moved towards the passenger side door- towards November.

_"Shit." _November hissed. His AK-47 was behind the seat. He fumbled with the holster on his leg and managed to free the MR-444 from it. The door swung open and moonlight filtered in. The Belkan soldier put a foot on the fender and hopped into the cab.

"I wonder what the truck is doing all the way out here?" The soldier wondered aloud, and hauled himself the rest of the way into the vehicle. A booted foot, caked with red sand and dirt descended towards November's head. Another foot descended. They both landed on either side of his head. November held his breath and willed himself not to move. Within seconds, the other soldier climbed into the driver's side.

"Oi, Johan, what was this thing doing all the way out here?" The passenger side soldier asked the driver.

"I'm not entirely sure, Fredrick, but my guess is that it will have something to do with the gunfire we heard earlier." Johan responded, starting the truck and putting on the gas.

"Well, there was a load of Osean pilots in the back. I wonder what could have happened to get this transport so far off course." Fredrick fired up the engine and turned the truck in a braking 180, out onto the main road again. November angled his gun up through the crawlspace, aiming for the Belkan's head. He fired the gun, and the pistol buckled in his hands. He was met with a satisfying gurgle as Johan slipped in his seat, his head moving out of the window. At the same time, Higgins fired his pistol and expertly disabled Fredrick. However, with its driver gone, the truck slid out of control and barreled into the dense undergrowth, stopping abruptly and flinging a halfway standing November into Johan's lap. On the way, November made a grab for the gun behind Johan's seat and pulled the AK-47 out.

"C'mon Higgins, let's get out of here!" Just as November said this, the surrounding hills jumped to life with the sound of gunfire. The canvas flaps in the back were being turned to cheesecloth, and the pilots began to freak out.

"Ooh God, we're gonna die!"

"Someone help us!"

"God spare me! I have kids!"

November leapt out of the passenger side door and pulled his AK-47 up, aiming at the closest muzzle flash. He fired a 3 shot burst from his assault rifle and heard a scream and the thudding sound of a corpse rolling down the hill towards the chaparral where Higgins, November and the pilots were stranded. Another burst of gunfire kicked up the dust at the Captain's feet, and if he had turned any faster, he would've cracked his neck and spine as he raked the hill with gunfire. Adrenaline now flowing freely through his veins, his fight-or-flight response now holding him firmly in place, the Kalashnikov bucked and roared in his hands as every muzzle flash on the hill was met with a withering hail of bullets. November ran out of bullets in one clip, tore the empty one out, smacked another clip into his gun, cocked the weapon and went hog wild, raking the opposite hill with bursts of gunfire.

The fight dragged on for what seemed like hours when it only lasted a few seconds. The hills finally quieted and a panting November sprinted around to the other side of the truck to find the rear tires riddled with gunfire. Higgins had survived the fight, his AK spent, some shrapnel from the battered rear tires sticking out from his flight suit, surrounded by a small halo of blood.

"It's nothing. Let's roll."

"But, Higgins, the truck has been disabled and, no offense, but you're in no condition to drive a tank, let alone a transport truck."

"I said, let's ROLL." Higgins pulled Fredrick's corpse out of the driver's seat and tried to fire up the engine. The old truck's engine turned over, but that was as far as it got. On closer inspection, the hood was riddled with bullet holes.

"Looks like we hoof it from here." November got the pilots out of the back and got them close enough together so that he'd be able to keep track of all of them.


End file.
